Stalemate
by White Rose Withering
Summary: The din of the South London pub, now more familiar to him than the vibrant reds of his own office, helped him to try to block out treacherous thoughts. Post 5:05.


Disclaimer: Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.

Author's Note: Post 5:05 Fic. Another fic about how Harry's dealing with Ruth's departure, with a twist. I had to reintroduce a former character because I always loved their parts with Harry. If some of the dialogue seems out of character, I apologize now, this has been re-written so many times. Also I have to apologize for taking the analogy a little too far.  
Enjoy and please don't forget to review.  
Happy Halloween!

**Stalemate **

Light was over rated. The harsh glare of over head lighting hurt his eyes these days. He spent far too long suffering, or working as it was more commonly known, under severe, artificial light to be comfortable with it. Even the usual soothing blues and greys of the grid seemed colder and vaguely accusing without her there to soften them. Working well into the night had lost its appeal the first night her light hadn't been there to greet him.

The din of the South London pub, now more familiar to him than the vibrant reds of his own office, helped him to try to block out treacherous thoughts, the constant flashbacks of their goodbye. The last few precious moments that haunted him when he closed his eyes.

He found himself sitting in the semi darkness of the pub, night after night, a glass of cheap scotch in hand. He wouldn't see his front door until the early hours of the morning; even then it was slightly blurred. Though whether from too much scotch or unshed tears, he was never really sure. He could never get used to this silence. Be it at work or at home, he needed something to fill the void. He had taken to playing the radio, loud enough to wake the dead. News, music, comedy sketches. It didn't matter, most of the time he tuned it out. But as long as there was some level of background noise, the chill along his spine, which had been there since the moment she'd sailed out of his life, seemed to lessen.

Harry made a harsh noise in the back of his throat, and ran a hand across his temples. He could feel the first familiar signs of a headache pounding behind his eyes.

It had to stop. The constant drinking, being distant at work, ignoring phone calls from the JIC and snapping at the various faces of the admin staff for no apparent reason. God only knows what they were saying on the grid. Once or twice he had walked in on hushed conversations that miraculously stopped the moment he entered the room. No guesses needed as what the topic of conversation had been about. The last thing he needed was for the wrong person to hear the gossip spreading around the grid and to put a few choice words to the DG. He'd be at Tring before he could blink.

Harry tapped his temple, thoughtfully. He needed to straighten his life out and to let the past lie. _What's done is done and all that_, he reminded himself. _And I will get everything sorted out_. He swirled the last of the amber liquid around in the bottom of the heavy glass. _First thing in the morning_.

As Harry debated whether trying to get the barman's attention would be worth the effort, a shadow passed by his table, somewhat accusatory in its manner. A smile curved thin, phantom lips and a sweetly venomous voice cut through the air like fingernails on a blackboard. "Hello Harry."

Just as though he had taken a direct blow to the chest, the air was knocked from his lungs. Had he drained the entire contents of a liquor bottle then he would have accused himself of hallucinating. Even he if had been, _that_ voice would have been the last he'd hoped to hear.

"Tess." Eyes firmly fixed on the glass before him; it rolled off his tongue like a familiar insult. He was surprised by how cold he made it sound. He didn't need to see her face to know she was smirking.

"Oh please," she made a show of sounding disgusted. "There's no need to take that tone. Anyone would think you're averse to drowning your sorrows like the rest of us in this hell hole."

Annoyance evaporated from his voice to be replaced by laughter. "Same old Tess."

With a smile, that reminded him of a seemingly tame tiger's, she set down a crisp, white coffee cup over flowing with the heady brown liquid. The rich aroma tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Isn't that a little refined for you?" he asked, gesturing to the cup.

She looked down at the cup as if just noticing it. "_I'm_ not much of a drinker these days." She placed more emphasise on the "_I'm" _than was necessary, and the jab didn't go unnoticed. She tipped her head to one side and raised the cup to her lips. "You don't seem all the happy to see me Harry."

"Should I be?" he asked, staring at the bottom of his glass. He watched flecks light as they danced through the remaining amber liquid. "Usually when our paths cross, one of my officers gets drawn into an on-going battle between us and I get left with the clean up. Then there's the small matter of robbing the service blind." Looking up, Harry took a moment to study her.

She looked older. That was logical since they hadn't seen each other for years, but she looked older. The little lines around her eyes seemed darker, harsher, and a tightness had set in around her mouth. It was as if all that time working for the service had kept her going, living on adrenaline alone, and now that she was out in the real world the years had caught up with her. Not that seemed to affect her acid wit of course.

"So much for the close bound between colleagues." Her voice was bland, almost as though she were laughing in her mind and forced herself not to show it.

"What are you doing here Tess?" Harry asked after a long moment.

She picked up a spoon and started to stir her coffee. Her eyes focused on the shallow movements of her hand, watching the ever increasing circles. "I was just in the area…" She risked a glance at him and trailed off. Letting go of the spoon, she flicked one of her French tipped nails. "Can't blame me for trying."

"Trying? Is that was that was?" he told her steadily. "Tessa, the Prime Minister does better than that and everyone knows how bad a liar he is."

She made a harsh sound in the back of her throat, and curved her back to the chair. "I happen to be a rather good liar."

"I know, that's how you got away with what you did for so long. But that was the thing about you Tess. You never kept it simple. It had to be grand, and that's what eventually gave you up."

It was an old game between them. Though the times changed, the rules didn't. Metaphysical chess it had once been described as. It was as familiar to them as the Official Secrets Act, and nearly as complicated. Every quip, witticism and insult got them closer to the desired goal.

"You never answered my question."

Her lips twitched as though she were attempting not to smile. "I came to offer my condolences." She ran a polished nail along the rim of her cup, and her eyes sparkled with something sinister.

"What are you talking about?" Though he already had a suspicion.

"Rumour has it that you caused quite a stir at the club." She leaned forward, resting her chin in her upturned palm. "Upturned a few tables and generally infuriated the staff. All over a dumb desk clerk."

Harry made himself go very still to stop himself from reacting. In his mind he could see Tessa's bishop moving steadily towards his king. He mulled over the words carefully, not wanting to give anything away that could give her the upper hand. "Is that right?" He finally settled for.

She made a _"hmm"_ noise. "A little bird told me that you can be very handy with a wine glass." An expression crossed her face like a shooting star on a clear, summer's evening. Had he not had years of training, he might have missed it. As it was he couldn't be sure what it was, but he'd put money on it being mutual respect for the display of violence.

A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he remembered the look of disbelief on Oliver Mace's face as shards of broken glass tore through his flesh like scissors through paper. It had been incredibly satisfying watching fear flash through his eyes in that moment.

"Who told you about that?"

Tess smiled, like a cat who had managed to eat the canary, and shook her head gently. "We all have our little quirks Harry." She said, passing a hand through her hair. "Mine involve screwing over my employers and having little spies tucked away for a rainy day. Whereas yours…"

"…Involve protecting this country from terrorism, getting rid of the bad apples in the intelligence services that pose a threat to national security, politicians who think they're better than David Bowie, and the odd crack pot scientist building bombs in Norfolk."

"Oh puke, that for our country business is starting to sound like a broken record." She rolled her eyes. "Yours involve falling for whatever bright; naïve thing passes for an intelligence analyst these days, only to have her commit suicide. Interesting little quirk, don't you think?" _Check_.

Harry looked away from her accusing eyes and flexed his fingers. He was suddenly glad that he wasn't holding in glass in front of him. Only Tessa, so bitter and twisted, could take something wonderful like his relationship with Ruth and make it sound sordid.

"What was her name again? Rose?" She made a great show of trying to remember, running through names on her fingers.

"Ruth," he said softly and full of feeling. He couldn't say her name in any other way. "And she's not…she wasn't naïve." He would never get used to referring to her in the past tense.

"Ruth, that was it." There was a dangerous twinkle in her eyes that said that she knew exactly what her name was. "You wouldn't believe what I've been told about the two of you." _Check_.

Harry made himself swallow, hard. "Nothing more than vicious rumours."

"Oh I don't know. Late night phone calls, candlelit dinners, romantic walks along the embankment, moonlit meetings on London buses." He could tell she took great pleasure in embellishing the truth. She raised her coffee cup to her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile. "You always did have a thing for women under you Harry."

The irony wasn't lost of either of them.

"Jealous?" _Check_.

Her eyes widened slightly. Good, it made him feel better to catch her off guard. She made a scoffing noise. "Hardly."

"Try not to sound so bitter when you say that Tess, and next time I might believe you."

She lowered her eyes to the table, one long nail tapping out a rhythm that he couldn't place. A sigh, almost a tired sound, passed her lips. "Stalemate is often the most boring position to be in Harry." She sounded like a child who'd had their favourite toy taken away.

"That all depends on which side of the board you're on," he said thoughtfully. He lifted the empty whiskey glass and set it back down with a hollow thump. "Drink?"

**The End**


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